Birthday at Bag End
by Cassandra Elise
Summary: Some disturbing news cancels Bilbo and Frodo's birthday. Will Sam, Merry, and Pippin bring Frodo out of his dreary mood? Chapter FIVE, in which hobbits sing and dance! Updated 7-04-04 READREVIEW
1. Bilbo's Birthday Plan

Author's Note: This story takes place a year before the BIG BIRTHDAY. I will be using a mixture of the book and movie verse. If you're familiar with both you'll see what I mean as you read on.  
  
This is my first LOTR fanfic. I'd really appreciate any feedback. Reviews encourage, criticise, and tell us writers that someone is actually interested in our work. So please be polite and review. Enough of my entreaties. Here's the fun stuff:  
  
BIRTHDAY AT BAG END  
  
Chapter One: Bilbo's Birthday Plan  
  
"I have it this time, Frodo my lad! You will be proud to be a Baggins come next month." Bilbo Baggins, the youngest one-hundred-nine year-old hobbit to ever fill the shire with mirth (and controversy), burst into the kitchen where his nephew sat contentedly munching an apple.  
  
Frodo looked up from his repast, his blue eyes twinkling with merriment. "I already am proud to be a Baggins, uncle." He was accustomed to the criticism his adopted uncle received, and he expected the neighbours to make hurtful comments on how there had never been a sane Baggins throughout the written history of Hobbiton. But Frodo had also decided from the moment Bilbo adopted him, and most likely before then, that none of the neighbour and family's disapproval would affect their relationship; and indeed it hadn't.   
  
"What mischievous scheme have you been devising now?" Frodo teased. It was well known that Bilbo thought of the most unexpected ideas. Of course, Bilbo's grandest idea had occurred when he was fifty. That was the time he had mysteriously disappeared from his home, Bag End, in search of adventure.  
  
"I've come up with an idea for our birthday party! I know you want something special this year, Frodo, and not for your own benefit either."  
  
"Indeed, the reason I am so anxious to have the best party is because you'll be turning one-hundred and ten!"  
  
Bilbo could barely contain his excitement as he waited for his nephew to finish reminding him how very old he truly was. "I've decided that we should have horses."  
  
"Horses?" Frodo repeated sceptically.   
  
"They wouldn't be just any horses, my lad, but Man horses! Imagine the look on our relatives' faces when they see four, snow white 'Big Folk' horses."  
  
"Don't you mean grey horses?" Frodo interrupted. "Horses might look white, but scientifically speaking, they're actually considered grey."  
  
"I see all that book-learning hasn't been in vain." Bilbo allowed Frodo a few seconds to enjoy in his compliment before continuing his dialogue. "If we can find some Man horses our party will be the most memorable one in the whole shire. It is sure to be a success!"  
  
"More likely a disaster." Frodo tossed his apple core aside in frustration. "If you bring in horses from the outside you know the shire-folk will deem us even more insane than before. Furthermore, if we hire Man horses for the occasion everyone will think the Baggins care more about humans and other creatures than their own kind."   
  
"Well, we know that's not true, Frodo."  
  
"But they don't!" Frodo gestured to one of the round windows, implying that the entire world outside their house did not share their view.   
  
"It's times like these that I do care more for the outsiders than these narrow-minded hobbits!" cried Bilbo. He smiled, forgetting the bigotry of the Shire and letting the picture of his nephew grabbing for a second apple soothe his nerves. "I thought we had finished the apples."  
  
"There were a few hidden in the cellar." Frodo gave one of the remaining fruit to his uncle.   
  
"Soon it will be harvest time again," Bilbo said absently. He gazed at the apple, his mind some place else. "I still think it would have been grand to bring the horses. Gandalf has connections and could have found us several for a very inexpensive price . . ."  
  
Frodo bolted at the mention of the wizard's name. "Gandalf is coming? We have not seen him in a long time!"  
  
"Well, he was going to come, but now that we have no reason for his leaving his comfortable lodgings and visiting the Shire . . ."  
  
"No reason? Have you gone mad?"  
  
Amused, Bilbo noted his nephew's distraught countenance. "Frodo, you should know by now when I am serious and when I am in jest!" He began to laugh heartily, the apple rolling from his outstretched hand onto the floor.  
  
Frodo watched the fruit nestle itself in a very unkempt corner of the kitchen. "When is he arriving-do you know?"  
  
"He told me to expect him by the twenty-first, and if he was not here, we should assume the worst." Bilbo ruffled Frodo's dark brown hair. "Of course, I said to him, 'If you are not here for Frodo's and my birthday, I will come after you to make certain the worst has befallen you, and that you have not just stayed away because you don't feel like visiting us.'  
  
"But enough talk of birthdays. You must go outside, for it is a very pleasant day." Bilbo waved his hand as an indication that Frodo was dismissed.  
  
Once outside, Frodo had to agree with Bilbo that it was a beautiful day. The late summer sun was peeping at him from behind the massive trees. The leaves were mostly green but with a tint of gold and orange, announcing to the world that soon it would be autumn. The breeze was warm, the clouds were few in the sky, and Frodo felt very alive.  
  
He meandered around the Bagginses' property and presently found himself in the garden. He surveyed the late flowers with great satisfaction, for he had a passion for true beauty. He was about to pluck a solitary blossom when the sound of singing caught his attention. Frodo soon discovered it was his gardener, Samwise Gamgee, belting out a lively tune as he knelt in the dirt, weeding.  
  
The flowers in my garden smell purty and sweet.  
  
The ground in my garden feels cool beneath my feet.  
  
I'm happy in my garden, so let me be.  
  
I would not trade my garden for the whole Sea.  
  
As the song finished, Frodo burst into an enthusiastic applause. Startled, Sam sprang up from the ground, looking for the intruder. When he realised it was his employer, he flushed, removed his hat, and stared down at his soiled feet.   
  
"If I had known you were listenin' I wouldn't have been singin," mumbled the gardener.  
  
"Of course, Sam, and that's why I didn't make my presence known," Frodo began. "I wanted to hear your song. I must confess I was not aware that you were a writer of verses, and a very good writer at that."  
  
"Lor bless you, Mr. Frodo Sir, that's very kind of you to say so. I'm not nearly a fine a singer and poet as Mr. Bilbo, or even you." Sam's gaze was still on his feet, which were trailing through the dark earth. "I just make up verses in order to keep myself occupied while I weed. It can be a lonely task-not that I'm complaining about the job. I love it here at Bag End."  
  
"Speaking of Bag End, guess who's paying us a visit for Bilbo's and my birthday?"  
  
Sam Gamgee was no longer staring at the ground. "I don't rightly know, Sir."  
  
"Gandalf the Grey!" Frodo enjoyed using Gandalf's full name; it made the wizard seem even more important and ominous than he really was.  
  
Sam smiled earnestly as he said, "I should've known Mr. Gandalf would be comin. He always comes for Bilbo's party, at least it seems that way."  
  
Frodo's smile nearly faded as he mused over this remark. He had wanted something entirely different for Bilbo's birthday this year, not that he didn't appreciate having his friend Gandalf arrive. However, Gandalf was old news in the Shire. Every hobbit had already made his opinion of the wizard. Those who opposed him would come to the party out of politeness, and those who relished his company as much as the Bagginses would gladly take part in the festivities. If the only surprise was Gandalf, there would be no discussions for months afterwards of how "Bilbo had outdone himself this year," or "I was terrified at the __ they had, but now that I look back there was no reason to be frightened."  
  
"Oh, Sam, I wanted this year to be different!" Frodo sighed. "Bilbo will have been alive for a century and a decade! Imagine! That's not something to take lightly."  
  
"Well, if anyone can think of somethin special, Mr. Frodo, I'm sure you will." The loyalty in Samwise's voice was enough encouragement for young "Mr. Frodo."  
  
A puckish glimmer filled Frodo's large eyes, and he exclaimed, "Why don't we have you stand up and sing several of your verses! That should have a great many hobbits talking, including your old Gaffer."  
  
"Oh no, Mr. Frodo, I couldn't, not even if you gave me a raise in my salary or unlimited taters for the rest of my life!" Frodo was grinning, and Samwise realised he had been duped. Trying not to flush, Master Gamgee began, "Don't you think you've fooled your old Sam enough today?"  
  
Frodo laughed and returned to the kitchen to finish his apple and retrieve the one that had lodged itself in the corner. He knew Bilbo was scattered and wouldn't have found it yet.  
  
As he bit into his apple, Frodo shook his head in amazement. There was something about Bilbo's charisma and Sam's conviction that was so infectious. He didn't know if this birthday would be an extraordinary event, but he did know that ever since he'd come to live at Bag End, life hadn't been boring.  
  
On to Chapter Two . . . 


	2. Disturbing News

Author's Note: This story takes place a year before the BIG BIRTHDAY. I will be using a mixture of the book and movie verse. If you're familiar with both you'll see what I mean as you read on.  
  
Chapter Two: Disturbing News   
  
Bilbo and Frodo's birthday finally arrived, and with it came a flurry of activity that Frodo hoped would all be done in time for the party. It was going to be a small affair (small in the terms of a normal hobbit feast.) Fifty of Bilbo's closest friends and relatives had been invited, and several more were expected to attend, invitation or not. This was all customary, for hobbits enjoyed a good party, even if it was to honour one of the strange Bagginses.   
  
Frodo's uncle had sent him out of the house with a list for last minute items, and now Bilbo was baking a cake, while Samwise decorated the pavilion outside. When Frodo came home, he was fairly pleased at how much effort his uncle and friend had put into making this birthday special.   
  
He was especially astounded at the decorations. There were streamers in every possible colour, numerous lanterns hung to make certain the celebration continued into the wee hours of the morning, and a tent that looked new. Some of the streamers were hung a bit lopsidedly, but Frodo knew that Sam had really put his heart and soul into the project.   
  
Frodo entered Bag End, and the heavenly aroma of fresh vegetables, mushrooms, meat, and cake permeated the entire house. There were pies yet to come from some of the women-folk who weren't against Bilbo and Frodo. Some of the women-folk were young maidens, hoping to win Frodo for their own with their enticing food. Even this early, Frodo knew it would be a satisfying feast.  
  
The birthday party was complete, except for two reasons. One namely, he still hadn't found the perfect gift for Samwise. A hobbit always gave presents, not received them, on his special day. Secondly, he hadn't thought of any singular ways to make this party the most unforgettable.  
  
"Childish of me, but it would have made the perfect Birthday," he murmured despondently to himself as he entered his room to get the present he'd created for Bilbo.   
  
He had just snatched the wrapped gift when his uncle called to him, "Frodo my lad, I have a surprise for you!"  
  
Frodo hesitated for a moment, for he knew he should appear cheerful so he did not upset his uncle. After composing himself he trudged into the parlour, gripping his small parcel tightly.   
  
Bilbo confronted him with a nicely wrapped package. Sam was standing next to the elderly hobbit, grinning broadly.  
  
"What is it, Bilbo?" inquired Frodo curiously, as he accepted the present.  
  
"You'll see soon enough." He stared expectantly at his nephew and said, "Well, don't just gape at it; open it!"  
  
"Oh!" Frodo automatically ripped off the wrapping paper, tore open the box, and gazed at the contents. Inside was a vest, vibrant and intricately sewn. The colours were neutral tones of slate blue and grey. A pattern of green leaves and vines weaved through the vest. The buttons were glistening as if made from some rare gems, and silver chains attached them to the button holes. "Uncle, it's the most exquisite piece of clothing I've ever seen! Is it elvish?"  
  
"I think I should keep the origins of the vest a secret." Bilbo winked slyly, taking pleasure in the rapturous expression on Frodo's face.   
  
"May I put it on now?"   
  
"Of course, dear lad, that's what it's for!" Bilbo laughed. He helped his nephew slip into the attire and button it.   
  
Frodo hugged him and began to thank him when Bilbo added, "Do I get my present now?"  
  
Frodo stepped out of his uncle's embrace, bemused. "What-oh yes, your gift. I forgot."  
  
"That's evident, Mr. Frodo," remarked Sam Gamgee.  
  
Frodo realised that during the commotion of the last several minutes, he had mislaid the parcel. After finding the gift balanced precariously on the arm of a chair, he handed it very solemnly to his uncle.  
  
The present was a piece of parchment, framed in glossy oak wood. On the paper was a poem, neatly written. Bilbo started reading the poem but the tears welled in his eyes and he had to give it back to Frodo.  
  
Frodo recited the verse in his clear voice:  
  
Some days desperation consumed me,  
  
Because I was so all alone.  
  
Out of duty my family roomed me,  
  
But Brandy Hall was not my home.  
  
I wish I could describe the pure joy,  
  
I felt when I first saw Bag End.  
  
No more would I be a lonely boy.  
  
Now I had an uncle and friend.  
  
And so it brings me pleasure to say,  
  
I'm glad that I belong to you.  
  
May your Eleventieth Birthday,  
  
Be filled with joy and warmth, too.  
  
Bilbo smiled tearily, Sam clapped wholeheartedly, and Frodo bowed ceremoniously.   
  
"I was going to write it in Elvish, but I didn't have enough time," Frodo apologised.  
  
"I'm glad you didn't, or I wouldn't be able to understand it," cried Sam.  
  
"No matter what language it's written in, I promise I will hang it on a wall in my study," Bilbo said. "Now, I must see to the final food preparations." He hobbled into the kitchen, humming a breezy tune.  
  
Sam and Frodo stared at each other for lack of words. After moments of an interminable silence, Samwise spoke. "The vest is very fine, Mr. Frodo, but isn't it also-um," he frantically grappled for the right word, "a bit garish?"  
  
Frodo scrutinised the apparel as best as he could before replying, "I admit the leaves and vines are quite ostentatious, but if I can't help liking it. It's as if some magic is clouding my vision, making this the most lovely gift I've ever received."  
  
Sam made one more comment on the vest before Frodo quitted the room. "If it is truly made my elves, then it's no wonder you feel it's magical."   
  
Frodo entered the kitchen and noticed that Bilbo was looking grave. "What's the matter, Bilbo?"  
  
Bilbo placed a hand on Frodo's shoulder, "My lad, a thought has occurred to me, a thought that is very important. Gandalf was supposed to arrive yesterday. I thought there might have been a delay, so I gave him most of today to come. If you recall, Gandalf said nothing but the worst would prevent him from attending our party. Therefore I must assume the worst, and as I vowed, I'm going out to find him."   
  
Frodo felt ill and tried to comprehend this information, but he could not, would not believe it. He spoke slowly, "You don't know where he is! If you leave now you can't possibly be back in time for the party!"   
  
"I'm not intending to be back in time for the party. Our gathering must be postponed until I can find Gandalf, make sure he is safe, and return home." He raised a hand to silence his protesting nephew. "Would you rather have this party, assume nothing is wrong with Gandalf and then discover he was critically ill or injured. Or would you rather we postponed the party so I can find our friend and save him before he dies?"  
  
"He's a wizard; why doesn't he just heal himself?" muttered Frodo.  
  
"Frodo," Bilbo began warningly, "if he's extremely ill he might not have the strength to do anything. I am going, and that is final. He's too dear a friend to give up just because of a silly party."  
  
"It isn't silly; it's your eleventieth birthday!" Frodo objected. In his heart, he knew Bilbo's leaving was the only thing to do, but surely not on their birthday!  
  
Bilbo was down in the cellar by now, selecting a few drinks for "medicinal purposes." He returned with a bottle labelled, "grape juice."  
  
Frodo cleared his throat and said tentatively, "If Gandalf is really injured, wouldn't he want something stronger to drink?"  
  
Bilbo seemed in a rather jolly mood considering the sombre predicament the two hobbits were in. Frodo soon found the reason for his uncle's joviality was his question. "This is not mere grape juice-no, not indeed! It's a bit stronger; in fact, half a glass will send your head spinning and your eyes watering! I didn't know what to call it, so I just labelled it 'grape juice.' If you want anything to go with your supper tonight, be sure to have a bit of ale or brandy. And if you do have some ale, remember to save some for the party I do have several bottles of 'grape juice' left, but I don't want you even sampling it!"  
  
Bilbo's warning seemed to intensify Frodo's desire to taste the strong brew, but he managed to say, "I probably will just lock up the cellar while you're gone."  
  
After he had securely wrapped the bottle of liquor in a piece of cloth, Bilbo crammed a sack with several days worth of provisions. Then he placed the "grape juice" in the sack and tied it shut. He grabbed a walking stick, swung the bag over his shoulder, and walked out the door.  
  
"As I travel, I'll pass the word along that the party has been postponed!" Bilbo called.  
  
"As you say!" Frodo waved to Bilbo until his lone figure melted into the green hills, which were bright with the late morning sun. Then he shut the door very soundly, his melancholy thoughts returning with a vengeance. "Now there's no party, no Bilbo, and no Gandalf! The only thing that could make this situation worst would be if Lobelia Sacksville-Baggins decided to pay me a 'friendly' call to wish me a Happy Birthday." Frodo half-expected to Lobelia to miraculously appear in the parlour, her shrill voice demanding to know why Bag End was not bequeathed to her and her husband Otho.  
  
He was relieved when all he heard was the sound of Sam singing in his garden again. However, Frodo's apprehension returned when Samwise's voice was joined by two more, each talking animatedly of he knew not what. Frodo ventured into the garden to see who his visitors' were.  
  
"I don't care if you want to see Mr. Frodo," Sam was saying. "He's feelin poorly; seems Bilbo was called away urgently and the party's been postponed . . ."  
  
"Sam, you were listening to our private conversation!" Frodo exclaimed in astonishment. He had never suspected Samwise Gamgee of being the type of hobbit who eavesdropped whenever his curiosity provoked him.  
  
Sam flushed at having been caught. "I was just tellin Mr. Brandybuck and Mr. Took why they shouldn't visit you right now."  
  
Frodo noticed his two cousins for the first time. They stood side by side, and if someone didn't know them that well, he might think they were twins. The only difference in their stature at the moment was that Meriadoc Brandybuck had his arms cross over his yellow vest. His face was all seriousness, except for the impish gleam that was perpetually in his eyes. His dark eyebrows were knitted together in thought. "So no party today, eh?" he spoke with a heavy accent.  
  
Despite having just been twice informed that the party had been postponed, Peregrin Took was grinning broadly. He bounded over to Frodo, tripping over several late summer flowers, a most unforgivable offence in Master Gamgee's eyes. "No matter! We can still have a bit of fun, especially now that old Bilbo has gone and left us!" Pippin's brogue was lilting, and he spoke quickly.   
  
"No, I'm not having fun while Bilbo's away," Frodo answered firmly. "I know what mischief you two will cause, and all the blame shall be placed on me because I am the master of Bag End in Bilbo's absence."  
  
"What sort of trouble could we possibly cause?" Pippin asked innocently.  
  
"Well, maybe you two will drink all the ale and beer in the cellar," suggested Sam.  
  
"You have beer and ale?" Merry managed to step on several undamaged flowerbeds.  
  
"Say now, watch where you put your big feet!" cried Sam. He rushed over to his plants, righting them as best as he could.  
  
"No, you're not getting anything to drink!" Frodo announced, his voice filled with conviction. "We're saving it for the party."  
  
"Whenever that will occur!" scoffed Merry.  
  
Frodo's temper rose, and he sputtered, "We'll have that party soon-sooner than you think!"  
  
"That's the way to talk!" Merry placed a friendly arm around his cousin Frodo's shoulder. "Of course you'll have that party, maybe even this very evening!"  
  
"You mean Bilbo will be home tonight in time?" Pip asked naively. He bounced up and down, trampling the flowers Sam had righted.   
  
Samwise made a noise that was a mixture of frustration and despair. The hobbit seemed very close to tears.  
  
Suspicion grew in Frodo as he listened to his cousin's speech. "What foul scheme are you devising, Meriadoc?"  
  
"Tisn't foul; what's wrong in celebrating tonight and whenever Bilbo returns?" Merry had removed his arm from Frodo's shoulder and was now making grand gesticulations. "We'll only invite a few close friends to the gathering, and will make them swear not to mention the party if you're so afraid Bilbo might object to my idea."  
  
"Making a hobbit keep a secret is like telling a rooster he can't crow," Frodo protested.  
  
"Have faith in us hobbits!" cried Pip. "If I can keep a secret than so can our friends."  
  
"Good, the whole shire will know of the event in an hour," muttered Sam.  
  
Ignoring Sam and Pip, Merry continued, "You can't waste all this food, and who knows how long it will take for Bilbo to come back? It could be days-weeks! If you wait, all this delicious food will spoil!"   
  
For the first time, Sam looked vaguely interested. "He has a point there, Mr. Frodo."  
  
Frodo scanned the eager faces of his friends and family. He sighed and asked, "How many guests were you thinking of?"  
  
"Oh, just two close friends for each of us," Merry rejoined.  
  
"So with the four of us that would make a total of-" Peregrine paused to puzzle it out-"twelve hobbits!"  
  
A dozen hobbits could quickly eat a third of the birthday feast, but didn't he want to finish the food before Bilbo returned? Of course, Bilbo could return the very next day, and then there would be no time to prepare more food for the real party. Frodo wasn't certain what he should do. Resignedly, he came to a decision..  
  
When Frodo opened his mouth to speak, Merry was just finishing his devious plans. "We will leave the outside pavilion alone. It would arouse too much suspicion among the folks not invited to this small party if they saw any sort of activity that even remotely resembled a celebration."   
  
"All my decorations will be for nothing?" Sam hung his head; plucked a drooping flower; and smelled the sweet fragrance, hoping the scent would pacify him.   
  
"We'll still use the tent when Bilbo comes home!" snapped Merry. "Why don't you lads ever listen to me?"  
  
"Maybe it's because you're always talking," Pippin replied. "It can get tiresome."  
  
Before a fight could ensue, Frodo declared, "I have decided that you can go ahead with you scheme, Merry, but in order for it to work, we all have to do our part. However, before anything gets done, I would like to have a cup of tea. If you would follow me inside gentlemen."  
  
The two cousins eagerly scampered after Frodo. They were almost inside when Frodo whirled around to address his gardener. "Are you coming, Sam?"  
  
"I think I'll try to fix these poor flowers," answered Samwise. "They've been stepped on so many times, I don't know what good my hands will do. Probably cause more harm than good, but I'm determined to try to mend this garden if at all possible. I'll come in on my own accord when I'm done."  
  
Frodo smiled at the resolve of his gardener before entering Bag End.   
  
Sam was whistling forlornly as he surveyed the trampled flowers. Slowly, he got to his knees and began righting a bent aster. He was moving on to the next flower when he spotted a pair of feet he didn't recognise, small and relatively clean as far as a hobbit is concerned. Looking up, whom did he discover but the maiden Rose Cotton!  
  
To Be Continued . . . 


	3. Bothersome Burrs

Author's Note: Thank you Shirebound and Alexis Rockford for your kind words. I hope you enjoy the next chapter.  
  
Another Note: This story takes place a year before the BIG BIRTHDAY. I will be using a mixture of the book and movie verse. If you're familiar with both you'll see what I mean as you read on.  
  
Chapter Three: Bothersome Burrs  
  
Samwise remained kneeling on the ground, his hands positioned on a battered flower. His mouth was agape; his eyes were round; and a faint blush was creeping into his round face. He made a feeble attempt to speak but stopped. Suddenly, an inspiration took hold of him, and he said with all the brilliance of the most intellectual hobbit, "Hallo!"  
  
Rose, commonly known as Rosie, returned the salutation. A silence followed that lasted until Rose declared, "I brought Mr. Bilbo and your Mr. Frodo some pies for the party." She held up the ample basket in her arms to prove it.   
  
"It smells delicious," answered Sam. With all politeness, he asked, "Do you have pies in there?"  
  
"That's what I just said," Rosie giggled, the dimples on her cheeks most becoming.  
  
Sam flushed deeper than before and rose to his feet with his head cast down. He scratched the back of his neck, leaving a streak of dirt. "I meant, what kind of pies are in there?"  
  
"Strawberry rhubarb, apple, mincemeat-well all sorts of pies!"  
  
A discomfiting quiet settled over the two, and Samwise wished he had followed his master into Bag End. He averted Rose Cotton's gaze as he said, "I reckon Mr. Frodo is searching for me. If you'll pardon me, Miss Rosie." With an embarrassed air, he brushed past her. His head was still down, which prevented him from seeing where he was going. Consequently, he stumbled into a bush full of ugly, brown burrs.  
  
"Samwise, did you hurt yourself?" Rosie nearly dropped her basket (but she knew the importance of keeping apple, strawberry rhubarb, and mincemeat pies whole, at least until consumption!).  
  
Samwise did not reply, but fled to the safety of the Bag End kitchen. There he found Frodo, who was contentedly boiling water for the tea. Frodo was surprised to discover that Sam was grave and distraught.  
  
"Why, Sam, you look as if you've just survived an encounter with an angry orc!" cried Frodo.  
  
"I wish it had been an orc, Sir. I think I could have faced him better than her."  
  
"Who's her, and what are you saying?"  
  
Sam removed his hat-this seemed to be a nervous habit of his-and placed it on the crude wooden table. He avoided Mr. Frodo's stare, busying himself with the counting of several notches that had been carved into the table over the course of years.   
  
"What are you saying?" Frodo reiterated. He noticed a strange, prickly object protruding from the edge of Sam's left sleeve.  
  
Master Gamgee managed to talk around the lump in his throat, "Miss Rosie Cotton came by with pies, and I made a fool of myself as is my custom." He slouched into a chair at the table, but yelped in pain and sprang up, clutching the seat of his trousers.  
  
Frodo abandoned the tea kettle and rushed to his companion's aid. "My dear Sam, what has happened now?" He tried to disguise the exasperation in his voice. He did not know the reason why Samwise Gamgee had suddenly lost his composure. After all, he had known Rosie Cotton for years and had never exhibited any nervousness around her until recently.  
  
"Mr. Frodo," yelped Sam, "I've seemed to have sat on a burr."  
  
His brow furrowed with puzzlement, Frodo stared at the seat Sam had been occupying moments before. "What would a burr be doing on the chair?"  
  
"I fell into some underbrush when I was escaping from Ro-that is-entering the smial. The burrs must have stuck on my trousers then."  
  
"We'll just have to remove them." Frodo's voice quivered; it was his desire that Sam would mistake this for concern, and not make the connection that he was trying desperately not to laugh.   
  
The bothersome burrs clung onto a large extent of Sam's clothing. As Frodo cleared his throat, Samwise gave a disapproving glance. "Will you not help me get rid of these nuisances, Mr. Frodo?"  
  
As Frodo pondered how he was to remove the burrs without degrading Samwise Gamgee any further, a clamorous knock was heard on the front door. He sighed, relieved that he did not have to solve that dilemma immediately. "I shall return shortly, dear Sam." After patting the tremulous gardener on his brawny shoulder (and swiping a burr from his shirt), Frodo quitted the room.  
  
  
  
"Don't concern yourself, cousin Frodo. We'll answer the door for you!" shouted Merry, as he exited the parlour, Pippin trailing after him.   
  
"I believe I'm perfectly capable of answering my own front door," said Frodo. But Meriadoc had already swung the circular door open.   
  
Rosie Cotton beamed as she entered with her basket. "Where is Samwise? He ran off in such a hurry I was afraid something was terribly wrong."  
  
Frodo clasped his hands together, placed them behind his back, and then gazed up at the ceiling. A suitable answer was on his lips, ready to be heard by the whole assemblage, when an audible whisper interrupted him. "I just left for home, Mr. Frodo." came Samwise's voice in a very urgent tone.   
  
Rosie and Frodo both jolted at the voice, whilst Meriadoc and Peregrin exchanged confused glances. What was that ridiculous, if not ignorant, Samwise Gamgee doing?  
  
"Sam is not here, Miss Cotton," Frodo lied, though the truth was as obvious as the blush that was creeping across his boyish visage.   
  
"But I heard him speak; even you cannot deny that, Master Frodo," protested Rosie, utterly bemused.  
  
"What I meant was Sam is injured-not severely-and does not wish to be disturbed."  
  
"Perhaps I can be of assistance? I know of a few healing herbs." Rose advanced towards the kitchen, but Frodo caught her by the arm. Merry and Pippin's heads jerked from left to right as they glanced from Frodo to Rosie.  
  
"What lovely pies, Miss Cotton. They will certainly be enjoyed at the festivities this evening," remarked Frodo in the hopes that she would believe his pretence.  
  
"Why don't I take them to the kitchen for you, Sir?" Rosie offered eagerly.  
  
Frodo heard Sam give a distorted cry, listened to the scraping of a wooden chair on the stone floor and the distinct pattering of feet, and realised that Samwise was searching for an appropriate place to hide in the possible event that Rose Cotton entered the kitchen. Frodo knew his gardener would rather meet a hungry and vicious warg than have Rosie see him covered in burs. Quickly, Mr. Baggins stepped in front the entrance to the room. "I'm certain Pip would be more than willing to relieve you of that heavy load," he replied in all politeness.  
  
Peregrin stared at Frodo in bewilderment and would have inquired why anyone in their right mind would want to take a burdensome load, if Meriadoc had not kicked him in the shins. After an expletive of pain, followed by a childish display that included him hopping around the front entrance on one foot, Peregrin managed to grimace.   
  
"Of course I'll take the pies . . ." Pippin eyed them hungrily . . . "to the kitchen, that is." He snatched the provisions from Rose and, giving Frodo a disparaging gaze, quitted the room.  
  
Miss Cotton was on the verge of demanding why she could not see Samwise when a cacophonous shriek of half mirth and half dismay reverberated off the walls of the hobbit-hole. A moment later, Peregrin Took dashed out of the kitchen, snickering hysterically, clutching his stomach and covering his mouth in the vain hope that he could stifle his giggles.  
  
"Merry," cried Pippin, "I've never seen such a strange sight!"  
  
This was a strong claim, for having frequented the pub since the age of thirteen (he hadn't been drinking at that time), Pippin had witnessed the absurd antics of many an inebriated hobbit. Intrigued at his cousin's announcement, Meriadoc rushed into the room. In seconds, he was choking on his own laughter.   
  
Wholly forgetting his noble plan to save Samwise from complete mortification, Frodo anxiously entered the kitchen. This enabled Rose to follow with Pippin close behind.   
  
Frodo crimsoned with rage as he observed Meriadoc Brandybuck sniggering and pointing at Samwise, who was decorated with the uncomfortable burs. Rosie started, flushed, and tried to remain composed; but it was evident she wanted to giggle along with Masters Merry and Pippin. Frodo diplomatically ordered Merry and Pippin to assist Sam in the removal of the wretched seedcases, while he and Rosie organised the pies and prepared the tea. Masters Took, Gamgee, and Brandybuck traipsed outside where they could remove the burs, and as Merry aptly put it, "Help plant more of those infernal weeds for Sam to stumble into next autumn."  
  
Rose grinned as she removed the jostled pies from the basket. Master Frodo gazed askance at Miss Cotton in order to prevent himself from chortling. He would not laugh over Sam's misfortune, regardless how humorous the situation had been.  
  
After several minutes of silence, Frodo sunk into a chair and offered quite decorously, "Do sit down." As Rose sat on the bench, Frodo added, "No, sit anywhere but on that bench! It is not at all comfortable, especially for a lady such as yourself."  
  
Rosie glanced about the room; the only other seat in the vicinity was occupied by Master Baggins. Smiling, she replied, "Thank you, but I don't exactly relish sitting on the floor."   
  
From that moment on, Frodo knew Rose Cotton was a special hobbit lass. "Take my chair, if you please." He graciously offered her his seat before retiring to the bench.   
  
To Be Continued! 


	4. Just a Bit of Matchmaking

Author's Notes: Thank you for your continual encouragement, Alexis Rockford. I don't know why Fido wouldn't let you review, though. Very strange.  
  
And FrodoBaggins87, I'm grateful for the encouragement you handed over. :)

* * *

Another Note: This story takes place a year before the BIG BIRTHDAY. I will be using a mixture of the book and movie verse. If you're familiar with both you'll see what I mean as you read on.

* * *

Chapter Four: "Just a Bit of Matchmaking"  
  
When they were certain no burrs remained on Samwise, Merry, Pippin, and Sam re-entered Bag End and settled into various seats in the parlour. Pippin immediately jumped on the sofa, landing with a quiet thud. "You certainly know how to impress the ladies, Samwise Gamgee!" he said in mockery.  
  
"My intention was not to impress Miss Rosie," replied Sam stoutly.  
  
"Do you suspect Rosie will ever fancy you if you continually make a fool of yourself?" asked Merry shortly.   
  
Sam did not reply, but instead crimsoned and turned away from his comrades. This procedure sobered his friends, who suddenly were aware what a sensitive subject they had approached.   
  
Pippin said seriously, "I don't understand romance. Two hobbits can talk to each other just as amicably without becoming a couple. Just think of all the heartache that could be avoided if nobody courted and married!"  
  
With a puckish grin on his crooked mouth, Merry added, "Without marriage, just think of all the hobbits that wouldn't be born!"   
  
"Merry has been talking of nothing but hobbit lasses ever since he saw Violet Chubb near Michel Delving three days ago," Pippin explained to Sam  
  
"You would as well if a lady hobbit backed you into a corner and told you weren't going to leave until you kissed her," responded Meriadoc.   
  
"You didn't kiss Violet, did you?" Sam asked in consternation.   
  
"No, but with all the trouble she caused me, I should have kissed her and have done with it," answered Merry between chuckles. He added carelessly, "We'll leave you alone with Rosie for awhile if you want. That way you two can have complete privacy while you get better acquainted."  
  
"I don't know about that," Samwise began, grappling for the precise words. "I think it would be rather suspicious if you suddenly all left the room except me."  
  
"Why does Sam want to become better acquainted with Rosie? I thought he knew her well enough?" Pippin scratched his head, trying puzzle out that imponderable.  
  
Sam ignored his innocent friend to reply, "I don't need to be alone with Rosie in order to talk to her."   
  
"Is that your definition of courting?" Meriadoc let out a high-pitched whistle that grated the ears.   
  
"I didn't mention anythin about courting!" protested Sam.   
  
Merry was about to argue the point when he heard footfalls. As the steps drew nearer, Merry pounced on Sam and sent him sprawling to the floor. "Grab him, Pippin; don't let him get away." Merry started to ruffle Sam's hair, while Pippin batted his cousin.   
  
"Don't attack me; we're trying to get Samwise right now!" Meriadoc glared at Peregrin, but his frown quickly turned into a smirk. Smiling mischievously, Pip swatted Merry once more before attacking the unaided Sam.   
  
Frodo and Rosie entered the room with the tea. "I have several warm cups waiting to be drunk, but you had better get it while it lasts," teased Frodo. When he did not receive a response, he smiled at the romping threesome on the floor.   
  
"Oi! Why did you go and do that for?" cried Sam abruptly. He was holding one of the buttons from his brown vest in his hands and was glaring at a far from remorseful Merry.   
  
"I'll sew it back on if you wish." Rosie rushed over to assist him, scrutinising the tear and the doleful expression on Sam's countenance.  
  
"Bilbo has thread and several needles stored away in his room. I will find these for you." Eager to be of assistance, Frodo set down the tray of tea on a side table and exited the room with Merry and Pippin following.   
  
Samwise watched the hobbits leave one by one until only Miss Cotton remained. He was about to leave as well when Frodo re-entered the parlour.  
  
He gazed warily around before he asked, "Where did my two cousins go, Sam?"  
  
"I would gather that they went to raid your pantries," was Sam's miserable reply. He wished he was joining Meriadoc and Peregrin in their repast instead of sitting uncomfortably on the floor with Rosie.   
  
Frodo handed the acquired materials to Miss Cotton and left in search for his cousins. Whistling cheerfully, Rosie motioned for Sam to give her the button, which was clutched rather tightly in his brown paw.   
  
Samwise obliged her command, staring grimly at the parlour door. He was rather peeved that his friends had set him up in this fashion; he preferred to court a lady on his own accord without the interference of meddlesome young hobbits. Granted, Master Frodo was not involved in this unfortunate scheme, but Samwise felt betrayed by him nonetheless. If Mister Frodo had stayed to supervise the two, Sam would have felt at ease and would have been able to devise a plan to get him out of this business without coming near to admitting his true feelings to Rosie  
  
Rosie sighed happily as she sewed his button back in place. She was oblivious to Mister Gamgee's agitation. "I'm so glad I could do this small task for you." She blushed as she spoke, and Sam couldn't help but be pleased. "My only regret is that I don't know the real you. You rarely speak to me, save when I am with my brothers. When we're alone, I feel there is a barrier guarding your true self from me. Tell me, are you funny, or serious; responsible or impulsive?"  
  
Samwise was in a quandary which had no escape. He did not wish to tell Miss Cotton about his true person; that was private information that none, apart from his family and Master Frodo, knew. He resolved to be as evasive as possible. "I'm all of that, among other things. The real me is difficult to explain to a person who only knows me as her brothers' friend, if you follow me. I'm suppose I am serious, though I wouldn't put it pass me to make a joke."   
  
Sam fumbled through his dialogue, whilst Rosie continued to sew, listening intently. She did not mind his stuttering, for she was enjoying the one-sided conversation. If he had been discussing the weather, she would have listened with the greatest of raptness, proving just how infatuated she was with the young Gamgee. With a swift stroke, Rosie finished stitching the button in place. "There, it's as good as new, or my name is not Rose Cotton." As she stood from the floor, she accidentally brushed her fingers over his hand.  
  
Samwise admired the handiwork for a moment before replying, "Thank you for your kindness, Rosie."   
  
Rosie glanced up at the rotund, browned face in front of her; the sandy hair in desperate need of a cut; the deep brown eyes darting about anxiously. Samwise rose and noticing Rosie's gaze, leaned closer to the lass. At the last moment he turned away, and with a small smile announced, "I ought to have some tea before it gets cold."  
  
"Shall I tell you how much I like you?" Rosie asked suddenly.  
  
This unexpected inquiry bewildered Samwise. Being the polite hobbit that he was, he answered, "If it pleases you, then go ahead." Immediately following the reply, remorse filled him. He did not wish to hear any declaration of love from this hobbit lass. He was far too young to court, and if age hadn't been an issue, he was far too shy. The only sensible thing to do was to change the subject, which Samwise did accordingly with much gusto. "As you might have heard, Master Bilbo has gone to visit Gandalf the Grey, and the party as been postponed."  
  
"I had heard. That is why I found it odd that Mr. Frodo was speaking of eating the pies tonight!"  
  
"Well, we are having a small get-together to commemorate Frodo's birthday this eventide. Would you care to come?"  
  
Rosie's eyes sparkled with mirth as she answered, "It would be a privilege, Sam! Let me tell the news to my family!" She dashed out of the house before Sam could warn her that it was to be a small affair.   
  
It must be stated that the Cottons was by no means an undersized clan. Brothers, sisters, aunt, uncles, and cousins by the score were known to visit Farmer Cotton's hobbit-hole at one time or another. Fear consumed Sam as he thought of the many relatives who might arrive for Frodo's secret fete. "And he made me promise to bring only two friends!" murmured Sam pitifully. Sam's head filled with thoughts of Mr. Frodo discharging him once he discovered how many uninvited hobbits had shown for this exclusive party because of his blunder.   
  
"It must be some consolation to you that even if you won't be working for Mr. Frodo tomorrow, Rosie Cotton touched your vest!" With this consideration, he scooped up the neglected tray of tea, and hurried to find the other hobbits.  
  
As Sam entered the kitchen, Pippin demanded, "Well, what happened between you and Miss Cotton?"  
  
"Do the words 'being schemin and interferin is very unbecomin,' mean anything to you?" Sam gently placed the tea tray on the table.  
  
"Not in particular," retorted Merry, not at all fazed by Samwise's caustic comment.  
  
"Well, would you believe me if I said 'nothing happened between Rosie and me'?"   
  
"No," all three of them replied in unison.  
  
"Then I won't say it." Samwise poured himself a warm cup of tea, grabbed a raisin cake, and sat opposite Frodo at the table. "It was a rather uncomfortable business, and I hope you two have learned your lesson. Of course, I don't blame you, Master, but I don't understand why you did not help me."  
  
"I had not realised Merry and Pippin's plans until I was seated in the kitchen. By then, Miss Rosie was mending your vest, and I saw no need to interfere. It appeared to be innocent enough." Frodo took a large bite of his raspberry tart, oblivious to Samwise's disconsolate gaze.  
  
Pippin noticed and said to Merry, "You had better not meddle in Sam's affairs again!"   
  
"I can if I want," interjected Meriadoc, "but it wouldn't be wise to do so."   
  
Sam directed his gaze from Frodo to Merry, and it turned from one of dejection to one of utmost contempt. "I should have suspected from the beginning that it was all your doing!"  
  
"It was just a bit of matchmaking!" said Meriadoc defensively. "No crime was committed; nobody injured; the world didn't end; and life will go on for generations to come, regardless if you ever marry Rose Cotton or no!"  
  
A certain question plagued Frodo's mind, and refused to go away, regardless of his silent pleas and commands. Finally, after much deliberation, he asked it. "Sam, do you still think a hungry and dangerous orc would have been easier to face than Rosie?"  
  
"Without a doubt, Mr. Frodo, and nothing any of you can say or do will make me think otherwise!" Sam, head in his hands, slumped forward onto the table, a pathetic look etched on his face.  
  
Frodo lifted his mug to his lips in order to stifle an amused chortle. He would not let Sam know that he was laughing at his expense.   
  
To Be Continued! 


	5. Amiable Intentions

_Author's Notes: FrodoBaggins87, It was a long update, and I apologise. What with graduation parties and summer jobs, I was swamped. Sorry! _

_And I'm glad you liked my Sam/Rosie interaction, Alexis Rockford. But I'm sorry, Merry won't die in my fic!_

_Another Note: This story takes place a year before the BIG BIRTHDAY. I will be using a mixture of the book and movie verse. If you're familiar with both you'll see what I mean as you read on._

* * *

Chapter Five: Amiable Intentions  
  
"I wonder where Rosie is?" said Meriadoc suddenly.  
  
Pippin hit his arm lightly as he responded jokingly, "Rosie is Sam's girl, remember?"  
  
As Samwise blushed furiously at their banter, the two cousins grinned mischievously, and Frodo hummed a breezy tune. His tenacity in not participating in Merry and Pippin's teasing placed him in Sam's good favour for the rest of the day. In fact, Frodo's nobleness made Sam feel guilty of the mistake he had committed earlier that afternoon.   
  
"Well, Mr. Frodo, it seems Rosie's gone and told her family about our secret birthday party tonight," said Sam with a shake of his head. "You can hate me, if you will, or banish me from the party, but I don't know what good it will do you."  
  
Frodo's normally protuberant eyes grew twice as large. "But if the whole Cotton family comes to the gathering . . ." he let his voice trail off. They were all aware of how humongous an appetite the Cotton family possessed.   
  
"Will there be enough food for the rest of the guests?" Pippin asked.  
  
"I don't know," replied Frodo miserably.   
  
"Maybe we shouldn't invite anyone else to the party?" Sam proposed with a shrug of his shoulders.  
  
"I suggested the idea in the first place, and I'm not even allowed to bring a guest? How is that fair?" Merry rose angrily from the bench, strode to the kitchen fireplace, and stood perfectly still with his arms crossed in an obvious act of defiance.  
  
"Be a good sport, Merry; it isn't that horrid of an idea." Pippin likewise stood and went to shake his cousin rather harshly, but the imp refused to move.  
  
"The damage is done, so why dwell on it any longer?" Frodo inquired. A tension settled over the hobbits as each secretly blamed the other for this minor fiasco. Frodo realised it was imperative that they speak to each other, or the Cottons would arrive to discover four very silent and strained hobbits and no celebration. A queer glimmer abruptly appeared in his azure eyes, and he handed Sam two teaspoons from off the table. Tentatively, Samwise clutched the two spoons, then slowly started a simple rhythm.   
  
Pippin's foot tapped to the beat, and, as he began to hum tunelessly, he grabbed the spoons from Sam. He expertly imitated Sam's cadence, but, not to be undaunted, Sam snatched the silverware and added more manoeuvres. Before Pippin could take the spoons and attempt to copy it again, Frodo very slowly repeated Sam's rhythm with his hands. Sam and Frodo began performing the cadence together, humming softly under their breaths.   
  
Pippin found his own teaspoons, and joined Frodo and Sam. He had added a few extra beats, and soon he was doing a complete drum roll. As the three hobbits (Merry refused to move from his immobile position) watched the silver spoons move over the wooden table, they realised that the rhythm went very well with one of their drinking songs.  
  
Frodo began the song first with his clear voice, and it went something like this:  
  
_There's a cellar I know,  
  
And it's way below,  
  
The earth's dark ground,  
  
In the heart of town,  
  
In the Shire!  
  
_At this point Samwise and Pippin joined Frodo, never stopping their tapping.  
  
_If you go downstairs,  
  
You'll see standing there,  
  
Kegs of home-made brew.  
  
Ale and Whiskey, too.  
  
I'm no liar!  
  
You can drink your fill,  
  
Or at least until,   
  
You can stand no more,   
  
And can't find the door,  
  
And you fall down!  
  
So let us begin,  
  
With our glad drinkin.  
  
Our hearts will be light.  
  
We'll make the world right.  
  
Have a new round!  
_  
The three hobbits were about to belt out the refrain, when Merry, tired of his antics, began a lively jig around the table. Suppressing their chuckles, Pippin, Frodo, and Sam finished the tune.  
  
_So I'll drink all my ale,  
  
From a cup or a pail.  
  
Fill my mug if I can.  
  
Get the jugs and the pans.  
  
Lock the door; throw the key,  
  
Want the beer all for me.  
  
And when I am all done,   
  
I'll go home. No more fun!  
  
But I won't remain sane  
  
Till I'm drinking again!   
  
Eh!  
_  
Merry finished his dance by hopping onto the table, upsetting teacups, plates, and silverware. Frodo was in too much of a shock to chastise Meriadoc, which was just as well since he had shattered several dishes and left a tea stain on Frodo's new vest, and had Frodo been in a more serious mood, there would have been an exchange of several unsavoury words.   
  
As it was, Frodo ignored the broken platters and stain and said, "Now if you gentlemen would help me decide what games we should play tonight I would be most appreciative."  
  
Meriadoc jumped off the table and turned to Frodo with a puckish simper. "You'd be 'most appreciative'? You're always the polite old hobbit, aren't you, cousin?"  
  
Samwise seemed quite prepared to perform whatever menial task Frodo appointed him with. "We have to keep occupied before the party, so why not help?" was his logic.  
  
"I'd be glad to help out!" a female voice cried from the doorway. The four male hobbits turned to discover Rosie Cotton, red-faced from running to the Cottons farm and then back to Bag End. "Father says that you should expect all the Cottons to come to the party!" Frodo, Pippin, and Merry involuntarily groaned, but if Rose noticed this display of bad manners she made no comment.   
  
The five hobbits couldn't all work on games. As temporary Master of Bag End, Frodo found it necessary to give the commands. "I will come up with the entertainment for this evening and try to remove this stain from my vest." Frodo motioned to Peregrin and Meriadoc. "You will clean up this mess in the kitchen." He addressed the remaining two, "The tent has been decorated-and very aptly, Sam- but not Bag End! If you could decorate the house, I would be grateful."  
  
"Lead me to the decorations, Sam." Rosie smiled, and Samwise, crimsoning, escorted her to 5 Bagshot Row, where the streamers were being kept.  
  
Merry and Pippin quickly cleaned the shards of cups and plates from on and underneath the table, but once this errand was completed, Frodo was nowhere to be seen. Thinking that Frodo was still busy concocting elaborate games for the night's festivities, they wandered into the parlour where they sunk onto the sofa in boredom. They were oblivious to the fact that Frodo was scrubbing out the large tea stain on his exquisite vest.  
  
"What should we do now?" Pippin asked, piqued that Rose Cotton, Frodo and Sam had disappeared.   
  
"We rest a while before King Frodo returns with his two loyal subjects." Meriadoc unceremoniously shoved his friend off the sofa and lay down, attempting to sleep.   
  
"I don't think Frodo would appreciate you calling him 'King,'" answered Pip, struggling to his feet. He began pulling Merry's arm in order to rouse him but to no avail. Meriadoc merely smirked before pushing him. Pippin lost his balance and fell into Sam, who had unfortunately just entered the room with an armful of streamers. The two hobbits let out painful yelps as they landed pell-mell on the floor entangled in the colourful ribbons. "At least I landed on something soft," Pippin mumbled as he squirmed against a red streamer that had wound itself tightly around his arm.  
  
Sam was trying to hold back his tears as he surveyed the damaged decorations. "I can't put these in Bag End now!"  
  
Meriadoc felt a twinge of guilt which rapidly grew to a frenzy as he heard the pattering of feet on the floor. Rosie and Frodo entered the room, gazed at Merry's culpable face, and frowned. "You'll have to straighten these streamers as best as you can," Frodo ordered him.  
  
"At least my ribbons have not been ruined," sniffed Rosie disdainfully. "Come, we'll decorate the kitchen." She helped Sam to his feet, and the duo quit the room.  
  
Merry was rather unnerved that he had once again been the cause of trouble. Even Pippin hadn't been blamed though it was he who had fallen into Sam! If he was to remain in Frodo's favour, he would have to find a way to amend his behaviour.  
  
"Merry, I will help you, if you like," Pippin offered. He managed to free himself from the ribbons and stood by Frodo. Frodo had his new vest draped over his arm. "What are you doing with that?" asked Pip.  
  
"I was going to take it outside to dry," Frodo responded.  
  
A brilliant idea overcame Meriadoc, and he bit his lip to hold back a jubilant chuckle. "Allow me to take it outside for you, cousin!"  
  
Frodo scrutinised him warily before conceding. "Very well; I do have birthday presents to wrap for certain young friends of mine." He quickly returned to his room to finish this task.  
  
Merry held the article of clothing at arm's length as if it carried a fatal disease. He waved it exaggeratedly in front of Pippin's face. "I'll just take this . . . thing outside," he said with an affected air.  
  
Pippin thoroughly examined the garment for the first time. "That is one ugly vest."  
  
"I wouldn't be caught dead in that," Meriadoc proclaimed distastefully.  
  
"You know you won't be." Peregrin's brain began to work quickly as he investigated the vest more closely. "If you got rid of the vines and leaves-"  
  
"The inside of the vest is more beautiful than the outside," Merry interrupted. He displayed the inside, which was a black velvet. "The tailor must have been a master at his craft. Look how there are no seams!"  
  
Deep in thought, Pippin placed his chin on his hand. After a moment's contemplation he announced, "If we had some scissors we could cut the lovely silver buttons off the outside of the vest and sew them on the inside."  
  
"Bilbo had some scissors in his sewing basket!" exclaimed Merry, thrashing his head from side to side. "Is it still in the parlour?" He ran around the room, determined to find a pair of scissors if it took him all afternoon.   
  
Pippin feigned a yawn as Merry made circles around him. He clasped the sewing basket that had been perched on a chair. "Oh, Merry, is this what you require?" he asked playfully.  
  
Meriadoc blushed before he took the scissors from the basket and began cutting the buttons off. When he was halfway through, he ripped the rest off and then went over the rough edges. He stepped back to admire his labour. "It's a totally different vest."  
  
Pippin seized the garment, but before Merry could object, he explained, "You don't know how to sew very well." He cumbersomely began stitching the buttons on the vest's inside.   
  
"And I suppose you are an expert at sewing?" said Merry sourly.   
  
Pippin insisted vehemently that he could indeed sew better than he, and his protestations only subsided when Meriadoc asked, "What if Frodo doesn't appreciate our fine work?"  
  
"Then we're going to be in great trouble," Pippin answered solemnly.   
  
Merry did not respond, but his eyes were twinkling with mirth. Pip did not find the situation a bit humorous. He merely sighed and sewed a button on lopsidedly.  
  
Merry's mouth began to twitch; the spasm rapidly became a chuckle; and soon he was chortling uncontrollably. His laughter was infectious, and Pippin quickly joined him. The vest may have suffered from the laughter, but the hobbits' spirits certainly didn't.  
  
To Be Continued! 


End file.
